Elves and Escape Routes
by PeacockBlue
Summary: Alagaesia this time! 4th follow-up to 'Hobbits and Hair Dye'.


_Rule 5a) Brom does not appreciate being asked the question 'why' incessantly_

_Rule 5b) The Varden does not want 'educating' in music. Especially at two in the morning._

I appeared in a bright white flash, tumbling at the feet of a grumpy looking man with a long white beard falling messily down his chest. He looked at me disapprovingly and then I felt a pressure in my head, similar to a mild headache. I checked my Magic Handbag, now returned to its original Backpack form. I stood up, shaking my joints out and checking for injuries. My ankle felt fine – it seemed to have healed during the lightning travel. Handy thing to have around.

"So, Alice," the old guy said, breaking into my train of thought. Hang on. _How did he get my name?_ _I didn't tell him anything._ "Do not move an inch. Do not put your hand into your magic backpack. Stay still and quiet and wait for me to tell you when it is acceptable for you to move." He took out a bow, strung it and fitted an arrow, casually pointed at me. _Damn._

He stepped away as concussive thuds split the air, reverberating through my head. A sapphire blue dragon came into sight, a young man on top. The dragon landed, running a few steps to get rid of the momentum before coming to a halt. The boy in the saddle jumped off and ran towards us, pulling an iridescent sword out of a sheath on his hip.

"Ah, Eragon. So nice of you to join us." He nodded at me. "You may move now."

"Feeling more confident now that you've got the backup of a fifteen year old boy and an overgrown gecko?" I, of course, put my foot in it. The 'overgrown gecko' did not take kindly to being called such, and roared at me, showing off every single needle-sharp, curving, pearly white tooth. "Whoa whoa whoa, look who's getting all touchy, now."

So, introductions were made and, confessing that he had read my mind, Brom – weird name, huh? – apologised and introduced me to Eragon and Saphira.

We were soon getting along like a house on fire. And by that, I meant that there may be no survivors. I had been given a basic working knowledge of the history of the country I was currently in and a basic working knowledge of their own personal histories, by which I mean _Eragon's _personal history. We had been walking together for quite some time now, I was relishing in the feeling of designer track suit bottoms with a comfortable shirt and my beloved well-worn walking boots. The peace, however, could not last long. We had stopped off for the night in a small clearing near the edge of a small forest just off the beaten track. Eragon had been sent to collect firewood, so it was just me and Grumpy.

"Brom. Hey, Brom. Brom, hey!" in true Annoying Orange style, I got his attention.

"What?"

_Knife! _"What are you doing?"

"Getting out my sword." He replied, grumpily.

"Why?"

"To sharpen it."

"Why?"

"In case we run into the king's men."

"Why?"

"They are after us."

"Why?" I was struggling to hide my amusement. He was becoming more and more crotchety as time went on.

"Eragon is wanted."

"Why?"

"Saphira hatched for him, and he has not joined the king's forces."

"Why?"

"Because they killed his family."

"No, I meant why did Saphira choose _him_ of all people?"

"I know for certain that he is an admirable young man. I watched him grow up in Carvahall."

_Stalker _"Why?" just out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the bushes. Eragon was back. Excellent.

"_**BECAUSE HE'S MY SON, DAMMIT! NOW STOP ASKING QUESTIONS!**_"

"Brom? Turn around."

As he whirled around, I caught the expression on his face. I did not need to be a mind reader to know what was going through his head.

OK, a few months later and we were in Farthen Dur. Despite trying to explain to a stubborn dwarf named something like 'Ork' that 'father' actually comes from the Latin 'pater', rather than their 'fathern', I didn't think I was getting through.

A whole bunch of stuff had happened. Thanks to my 'chat' with Brom, Eragon had run off and was captured by two hideous creatures. Brom died trying to stop them. He was rescued by this guy called Murtagh with whom I was currently sharing a cell due to his understandable reluctance to let the bald man into his head.

After we had been let out and Eragon had been paraded and had had a little talk with the leader of this group, we were left to our own devices. Hence the reason why I was, at two AM, standing in front of the _best _sound system I had ever seen. The thing was huge. About twice as tall as I was and at least ten times as wide. I knelt in front of the very centre and hooked up the iPod that had been drawn out of my Magic Backpack directly after the speakers. I scrolled through the playlists and found one marked 'loud'. I lightly brushed the screen and, collecting the remote, made good my escape. When I was sure that I was sufficiently far way from the black monstrosity underneath the star ruby that was the floor of the dragonhold, I pressed play and cranked the volume up so loud that the entire extinct volcano (another thing the stubborn, thick-headed dwarves couldn't handle) was vibrating in time to the pulsing bass and drums of Meatloaf's classic, _Bat out of Hell, _that was pounding out of the speakers.

The reason I had chosen to do this at this time was that, although there was no natural light source in Farthen Dur, everyone still lived by the light outside, so it was _how early?! _o'clock and the sound of crashing drums, pounding bass guitar and screaming vocals was pulsing through the hollow mountain, bringing everyone running. Across from my vantage point, I could see Angela with Solembum looking at me with an appraising stare. She lifted a hand and waved me over. I shook my head, trying to signal that I wanted to wait it out and see just how much of the Varden I could 'educate' until a lynch mob hunted me down.

_Uh-oh._ An irate elf was stalking my way. Judging by the way her angular eyebrows were drawn down over her catlike eyes, she was _not_ pleased to be in a tent.

"Araya!" I grinned at her, purposefully mispronouncing her name. "So nice to see that you've recovered! How are you? Are you enjoying the music?"

"You. Call. _This. __**Music!**_" she was _definitely_ nota happy camper.

"Welcome to class! Today, I shall introduce the Varden to the awesomness that is Meatloaf. Next up? Bonnie Tyler _Holding out for a Hero_. Experience the emotions caused by the pulsing beat of the drums and bass combined!"

"I shall tell you this only once. Turn. It. Off."

"Erm, Angela? That offer to chat still open?"

She made a gesture that most eloquently said 'you're on your own, mate' although she still hung around to watch the epic showdown of a tireless, all-powerful elf against an average, tired human currently at the age of around nineteen.

I mentally weighed up the odds.

I was so dead.

Running club actually came in useful. Thanks to my head teacher's obsession with fitness, I had really good stamina and could run at a pretty good pace. I dashed through the winding corridors of the dwarf city and made as many twists and turns as I could. It was, however, when I hit the library that my skill really came into its own. I threw myself over tables, between shelves and around corners, all in an attempt to escape the seriously pissed-off elf not far behind me while simultaneously being attacked by the strong beats of the educational music that the finest spellcasters had still not been able to turn off.

I turned around, clutching my agonised sides.

"Is this what you _really _want? Do you really want to kill me?"

"It would be no shame to remove your influence from these halls."

_Oh, crap._

I reached inside my Magic Backpack and drew out… something. I couldn't make head or tail of this odd item. I absent-mindedly turned the music off so I could think and then BOOM! It disappeared. In a puff of smoke.

I shrunk back under the glare that was being sent my way. _If looks could kill…_

Luckily for me, just as she was springing forwards to tear me to shreds, a white bolt of lightning hit me.


End file.
